Navigators of Dune

Haditha wept quietly, pressing her face against the side of his neck. The other children gathered around the bench. Of his own initiative, young Javicco closed the balcony door, but they could still hear the mobs celebrating … mobs just like the one that had killed Nantha.

Their daughter represented only one drop of all the innocent blood the fanatics had spilled, and Manford Torondo had made a terrible mistake by reopening that wound.

Worse, the damned Butlerian leader had placed the Emperor in an untenable position. Roderick could hardly demand that the statue of his daughter be removed. Yet each time he looked out from his balcony, he would see the larger-than-life stone figure of his little girl, a constant and painful reminder of their loss. Did Manford think that would make the pain go away?

As Haditha continued her quiet sobbing, Roderick struggled with how to respond to this debacle. He couldn’t refuse to acknowledge the statue, but he couldn’t embrace the vile Butlerian leader over it, either. In every direction, more and more damage was being done.

Finally, he rose to his feet and took his wife’s hand, both of them heartbroken as he kissed her gently. The taste of salt tears was on her lips. “I will destroy him,” Roderick said. “This I swear to you.”

She nodded. They both knew that Roderick couldn’t just evict Manford and his followers from Zimia or the potentially violent mobs would turn on him, even in the capital city. When the Butlerians had saved the planet from the VenHold siege, Roderick had unwittingly fallen into a partnership with the fanatics.

But the Emperor had to be stronger than all the others.

“Your brother allowed the Butlerians to dictate his decisions,” Haditha said, “and he let Josef Venport expand his power base far beyond that of anyone else in the Imperium. But you’re a more skilled Emperor than Salvador ever was.” She squeezed his hand. “You should have been born first.”

Even though he knew this was true, he would not admit it. “My darling, the universe does not function on wishes. I need to rule with what I have.” He went over to the closed balcony doors while Haditha gathered Javicco and the girls. “I will find a way to have the statue moved, so that we aren’t forced to see it every day. I don’t want to remember Nantha that way.”

“Announce that you will move it to a more public place,” Haditha suggested. “We can form a school in our daughter’s honor, and the statue can be a monument in front.”

Roderick smiled at the possibility. “I knew you would find a way, my love.”

His thoughts wandered into regrets. If he had forced the issue earlier and convinced Salvador to abdicate, maybe he could have kept the Butlerians from mayhem. Then the riots would not have happened, and Nantha would not have been killed. Nor would the millions of other innocents who fell victim to Butlerian purges on so many planets. But that was all hindsight.

The universe does not function on wishes.

With the exception of independent robots such as myself, thinking machines do as they are programmed to do, which makes them efficient and predictable. Human beings often require additional incentive. I am investigating the concept of gratitude.

—ERASMUS, New Laboratory Journals

Ready to finish preparations for the Lampadas attack, Draigo returned to Denali with many responsibilities—projections to follow, prototypes to study and evaluate. He would ensure that all was ready when Directeur Venport gave the word.

For convenience he had moved into Noffe’s old office, which the Tlulaxa administrator no longer needed since becoming a cymek. Although most of the projections were already in his mind, he reviewed Ptolemy’s plans and concurred with the details. The well-armed ships of the VenHold Spacing Fleet and the big army of new cymeks should easily be sufficient to overrun the enemy. The barbarian fleet was old but nevertheless impressive, and after the siege of Salusa, they would no doubt feel cocky and overconfident.

Josef Venport was also overconfident, however, and Draigo needed to make certain the numbers added up.

Walking with unsteady steps, like a newborn animal trying to acquire a sense of balance, Erasmus arrived at the door hatch of Noffe’s former office, leaning heavily all the way on Anna Corrino’s arm. She held him up more than seemed absolutely necessary. He was still learning the precise functionality of his new body. “I must speak with you, Mentat. I have something to offer.”

Anna nodded, as if extremely proud of him.